Page 59 of F*ck Marriage

I should have pushed him away sooner than I did.

“Why’d you have to go and do that?” I lean back to look him in the face. There’s not an ounce of remorse.

“The spirit led me.”

I sigh. “I better get going.”

Woods grabs my hand. “Stay,” he says.

I shake my head. “Another day. When you’re sober.”

Iget home around two in the morning. Fumbling with the lock, I drop the keys. I bend to retrieve them, and when I straighten up, the door is open and Satcher is staring down at me.

I yelp, jumping back in surprise.

“What are you doing?” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice.

“Opening the door so you don’t wake the entire building.”

“Where’s Jules?” I peer around him suspiciously.

“She’s in bed. I was getting ready to leave…” His voice is low, barely a rumble.

I have a fleeting memory of our naked bodies moving together as he spoke baritone words in my ear.“You’re so wet, Billie…”

I shiver. It had been so easy to fall open for him. Too easy. I press a palm to my chest where it still feels raw from what happened between us.

I stumble forward, eager to get away from him, and my heel catches on Jules’ rug. He catches me, bending his knees to loop an arm around my waist.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“You know. You were the one making them.” I try to walk past him, but he blocks me.

“You reek of liquor. This isn’t from what I made you.”

“Well, last time I checked I was an adult and I don't have to answer to you about what I’ve been drinking.”

In my mind, he’s going to try to stop me from walking to my room. I make a dash for it, but the apartment is dark. My knees hit something and I’m thrown off-balance. I feel myself falling, my hands groping uselessly at air. In an attempt to help, Satcher reaches around to grab me and misses, his elbow connecting with my eye.

“Goddammit, Billie,” I hear him mutter.

I’m on the floor, one leg twisted beneath me. I straighten my leg and roll onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling.

“Shit. I’m sorry…” He sits down next to me on the floor where I’m cupping my wounded eye.

“I’m a loser,” I say. “A drunk loser.”

“No.” Satcher pulls my hand away from my eye and examines it with the light from his phone. “You’re going to have a shiner.”

I sniff. We stay like that for a few minutes and then Satcher gets to his feet, holding out his hands so he can pull me up.

“I’m sad,” I say tearfully.

Satcher kisses my forehead. “I know. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

I allow him to lead me to my room, the warmth of his hand traveling up my arm and into the cold of my heart. I pull away from him, but he doesn’t leave … except to go grab a bag of frozen peas to hold over my eye. He sits me on the edge of my bed and kneels in front of me to pull off my shoes. Placing them next to each other on the floor, he glances up at me.

“Who were you drinking with?”

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